Edenham Comprehensive

“Good morning, Casey,” Reuben greets her as she jumps off the second to last step. “I was waiting outside,” he explains at her questioning look, “but it’s pissing it down. Again.”

“Ah,” she says with realisation. “Got it.”

It’s Thursday morning, and the rain hasn’t stopped all week. Typical British weather, especially for mid-September. Sighing, Casey rummages in her back for the umbrella she pinched off her mum this morning and opens it.

“Ah,” Reuben warns, “don’t open an umbrella indoors.” She gives him an are-you-serious look. “It’s bad luck!” he says defensively.

She shakes her head at him and strides outside, the umbrella held high above her head. Reuben ducks underneath it, frowning.

“Can you hold it a bit higher?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes at him and hands the umbrella to him. “Just because you’re a giant. Hold it yourself.”

Muttering under his breath, he takes the umbrella and raises it above his head, peering out warily. “I must look like a right twat with this.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Thought you didn’t care what people thought about you.”

“Yeah, but still,” he mutters. “A guy’s got an image to uphold.”

“No one’s forcing you to hold it,” she says pointedly.

It’s Reuben’s turn to roll his eyes. “Hey, did you get your detention slip signed?”

Casey shrugs apathetically. “I forged it. I never give my mum anything to sign.”

He grimaces. “I got my mum to. She was a bit disappointed that I got a detention in my first week, but she didn’t ground me or anything.”

“My mum probably wouldn’t give a damn,” she snorts. “She’s not around enough to notice.”

“So, what’s detention like?” Reuben asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“We have a detention room, and everyone just sort of sits in that room for the detention,” Casey explains. “It depends on the teacher, but you don’t usually do much. Just sit there.”

“Well, that seems pretty pointless,” he remarks frankly.

She shrugs. “Welcome to Edenham Comprehensive, mate.”

The rain eases up somewhat as they approach the school, looming over them like a bad day waiting to happen. Ducking under the shelter, Casey stuffs the umbrella back in her bag and follows Reuben inside. There isn’t a soul to be seen; everyone’s hiding inside for fear of getting drowned in the pouring rain.

Their form room is all but full and thronging with people when they get there. They don’t even give Casey and Reuben second glances as they pass; Monday’s events are old news. Squeezing past a group of girls, Casey plonks herself down in her seat, placing her bag on her table and resting her head on top of it.

Surreptitiously, Reuben gets out his sketchbook, balancing it precariously on the edge of the table. Glancing warily over at Casey, he starts drawing lightly on the page, the outline of her figure slowly appearing. Her hair cascades over her bag like a murky waterfall, falling in soft, dark waves to her shoulders. Her face is just about visible, with a grey eye under a clump of hair, chapped pink lips and a simple grey line to represent her nose.

He's so immersed in his drawing, he doesn't notice Casey lift her head, frown and peek at what he's doing.

"Whoa," she whispers, clearly impressed. "That's really good."

He nearly leaps into the air with shock, his eyes the size of Jupiter, as he snatches his book away from her eyes. He's never let anyone see his sketchbook. Never. Drawing is his thing, his secret. He never wanted anyone to know about it in case... well, he’s not exactly sure why.

He watches Casey tensely, to see what she'll do next. Will she rip the sketchbook from his grasp, and pass it around for the world to see? Will she laugh in his face at his crappy attempt at drawing her? Will she make fun of the fact that he's a closet art freak?

But what she does is none of the above. Casey cracks a smile, the first genuine smile he's seen on her coral lips. "You know," she comments, "you must be a pretty good artist if you can make me look good."

He smiles uncertainly back. "I guess."

Her face screws up into a frown. "Oi. That's the part where you say, 'no, Casey, of course not, you're just naturally gorgeous.'"

Reuben laughs, suddenly at ease. "Fat chance, ugly-arse."

"Love you too, pea-brain," she responds good-naturedly.

Rolling his eyes at her, he stuffs his sketchbook back into his bag quickly, before anyone else can see. She laughs at his sudden shyness, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," she teases. "Your secret's safe with me."

***

Their first lesson of the day is Physics, in one of the labs. Shouldering her bag, Casey walks to the back of the laboratory, taking her assigned seat. She starts getting out her books and dumps her bag on the floor, but when she looks up, she's met with an unwelcome sight.

“Tyler,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “What do you want?”

“I sit here,” he replies mildly.

She frowns; on the teacher, Mrs. Edmondson’s, seating plan, Casey’s supposed to be sitting by a Chloe Thompson, a Grade 2 girl.

“I asked to move,” he explains at her confused expression.

Wonderful, Casey thinks, but says nothing. Tyler plonks himself down beside her, smirking shamelessly at her.

“So, how’s your week been going?” he asks, faking interest. “I hear you had a rather interesting Monday.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but bites back the retort already forming on her tongue. “It was fine.” Her voice is harsh, terse. Dismissive.

“Really. Good to know. I see you’re making friends with the new boy.” The smirk morphs into a hardly disguised grimace; clearly, Tyler doesn't think much of Reuben.

“Reuben,” Casey says pointedly. “And yes. I suppose we are friends.”

“He seems like an arsehole,” Tyler comments, giving her a sidelong glance to try and gauge her reaction.

Apart from gritting her teeth and tightening her grip on her exercise book, she doesn't react. She knows better than that. Her self-control has been perfected by years of practise. He could say anything he wanted and she wouldn’t even bat an eyelid.

Tyler opens his mouth again, as if to try and test this.

“That’s enough, Year Eleven!” Mrs. Edmondson screeches, drawing herself up to her full height, just about five foot in the heels she's perpetually wearing.

Tyler is momentarily subdued, but the minute she turns her back to write something on the board, he starts playing with his phone, tossing it aimlessly from hand to hand as if begging to be caught. But the aged teacher barely notices.

He starts humming, loudly and out of tune, to everyone’s snickering amusement but Casey’s. And Mrs. Edmondson’s, because she’s deaf as a doornail and can’t hear a thing.

But the loud giggles erupting from the front row manage to reach her ears and arouse her suspicion. Narrowing her eyes, she turns around, eying each student in turn. Apparently satisfied, she turns around again, returning to her writing.

Grinning, Tyler pulls out a miniature loudspeaker. Raising it to his lips, he blows into it, producing a strident whoosh which echoes around the classroom. Mrs. Edmondson whirls around and glares at the straight-faced class.

“Well?” she demands finally, frustrated by her inability to locate the source of the noise. “Are you getting this down?”

Amidst the grumbling, there’s the unmistakable rustle of papers and books as people reluctantly get out their stuff. His smirk growing with every passing second, Tyler puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles shrilly, watching calmly as the class collapses into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Mrs. Edmondson looks on in frustration, sinking into her seat at the front. Casey shakes her head with condemnation, not that anyone's looking.

“They love me,” Tyler whispers to no one in particular, smugly satisfied.

***

It’s lunch, and Casey’s holed up in a cubicle in the girls’ loos. Reuben’s gone to see some teacher or another, and she doesn’t feel like sitting in the form room like a loner. A few months ago, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But now she’s tasted the sweet cocktail of friendship she doesn’t want to trade it for the bitter pill of the lonely existence she’s led up until this point.

She feels a bit stupid, to be honest. She’s squatting on a grimy toilet seat in a grimier cubicle, the distinct whiff of period blood polluting the air. She’s not claustrophobic in the slightest but the off-white walls feel like they’re closing in on her, stealing any fresh oxygen there is floating around.

She’s about to give in and head to the form room to accept her fate when the door swings open and two unfortunately familiar voices fill the room. Casey’s eyes widen and she draws her legs up into her knees to hide them as the two girls continue their conversation.

She assumes they stop in front of the mirror, probably to fix their makeup. Inwardly, she prays they’ll get it over with and leave so she can too.

“Damn,” Nicole mutters, rooting in the handbag that passes for a school bag. “Left my makeup at home. I couldn’t borrow yours, could I?”

“Sure,” Georgia drawls, reaching in her own to toss it to the other girl. “Don’t know why you need it, though. You’re simply beautiful the way you are.”

Nicole misses the sarcasm in her tone, but Casey doesn’t.

“Aw, thanks,” she replies genuinely, smiling. “What do you think, this lip-gloss or this one?”

Georgia peers at the virtually dissimilar tubes with marked disinterest. “That one,” she says vaguely.

Smiling happily, Nicole touches up her already flawless makeup and runs her hands through her hair. Finally satisfied, she hands Georgia back her makeup bag and flashes her a brace-less smile.

“I got retainers now,” she informs her proudly. “Orthodontist said I’ll have perfect teeth.”

“Smashing,” Georgia says, and this time Casey can’t see how Nicole can take her remark to be anything but sarcastic. “Can we go now?”

“Actually, I… I thought we could talk for a bit,” she replies hesitantly. “I mean, it’s so hard to have a decent chat in this school. You never know who’s listening,” she laughs, though it sounds forced.

“Great,” Georgia mutters, pasting on a smile. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Actually, it’s about Tyler,” Nicole confesses, nibbling at the ends of her polished nails. Georgia stiffens, but she doesn’t notice. “I just… I wonder sometimes if he actually likes me, you know? If he actually cares about me or if he’s just taking me along for the ride.”

“What makes you say that?”

Nicole sighs. “He never talks to me. Well, he does, but not about anything important. I feel like I don’t know him at all.”

“Nic, no one really knows Tyler,” Georgia replies, a tad condescendingly. “I don’t think even he does.”

“Casey did,” Nicole whispers. At the mention of her name, Casey freezes. So too does Georgia.

“Don’t talk about her,” Georgia spits, livid. “Don’t even mention her name.”

“Why do you hate her so much?” Nicole asks, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to know. “What has she ever done to you?”

“She pisses me off,” Georgia replies coolly. “She thinks she’s all that, above us, just because she has ‘principles’.”

“Yeah, but what has she actually done to you?”

This time, Nicole is met with only a sullen silence.

“George, can I tell you something?” Nicole says slowly. “I mean, you’re my best friend. I can tell you anything, right?”

“Sure.” Georgia’s smile doesn’t quite extend to her empty eyes. “You can tell me anything.”

“I think the Grade system is stupid.” Her confession is little more than a whisper, spoken more to her reflection in the mirror than the girl standing on her left.

There’s a pause, a deceptively insignificant moment in time where nothing happens and none of them speaks. Then, after the beat, Georgia says softly, “Yeah. Me too.”

The two of them leave the toilets in silence, letting the door fall gently shut behind them. Casey doesn’t do anything for a very long minute which seems to stretch into eternity. But then, when she’s certain she’s alone, she unlocks the cubicle and shuffles out of the toilets.